A Sight to Behold

I was a sight to behold.

I was scheduled to meet at a parking lot at 9:15 to carpool with some ladies to a nearby city. I had offered to drive since my vehicle would accommodate most of the group. I had mistakenly determined that I had time to workout before I left in the morning and by the time I left my house I was running behind. I threw my knee high boots in the car with my lunch and sped away, driving in my stocking feet.

I arrived just as they were gathering as a group before departure. I pulled up, threw my boots on my feet, turned around to the back seat and saw the stray magazines, rice cakes, puzzle pieces and booster seat strewn all over. I jumped out, car still running, and tried to hurriedly collect the embarrassment that had overcome my vehicle. As I was frantically junk collecting, one of the ladies came around to the side of my car and said they wanted to say a prayer before they left. Having already made them late, I tromped around to the group, boots unzipped, arms full of garbage and a car seat, laughingly stated, "Well, I'm a mother!" and bowed my head to pray.

Now this was the first time I had met some of these women, the first time I would spend any time with most of them and I was a mess. But the reality was at that precise moment I could do nothing to change it. Yes, I could have gotten up a half an hour earlier to be sure I had time to work out, I could have skipped my workout and cleaned out my car and perfected my outfit before I left. I could have done a hundred different things to ensure that moment didn't happen, but I honestly had done the best I could that morning. And because I recognized that I had done all I could and still came up lacking, all I could do was laugh. I thought, well, if they don't like me after this, they never would have liked me anyway! I ended up having a lovely drive chatting and sharing with these women. I let the tragic moment go so that I could embrace the remainder of the future.

It's taken me years to have this kind of a moment. In the past, I would have been mortified for days, weeks over the fact I was so humiliated and my car was a mess. I would have avoided those women ever after, worried about what they had thought or still thought of me. But I've come to realize that perfection is overrated and there is too little time or energy to waste on worry - especially worrying about what others think.

As I was dropping everyone off later that afternoon, one woman chuckled that she would never forget how I looked standing there, boots unzipped, arms filled with vehicular overflow bowing my head to pray. I hope I never do either. I hope whenever I start to feel the panic of perfection rising up within me, I will take a deep breath, unzip my boots, laugh a little and bow my head to pray.

3:42 pm

The house is strangely quiet for a moment. A Saturday afternoon lull in the chaos of projects, chores and birthday parties. Gray clouds loom and swirl in the wind, threatening a deluge but withholding their splendor of moisture, sitting simply between my tired eyes and the sun. I look out my front window and see a lone flag blowing quietly in the wind.

My heart lurches, stirring in the silence of the memory. Cascading images suddenly fill my heart and mind. The shock, the uncertainty, the anger, the sorrow, the eerie silence of people huddled around television screens, watching, wondering, waiting - the image of a lonely flag flying in the wind.

I still feel a sense of sadness, of loss. It somehow never seems right for me to have a 'normal' day on this anniversary. I lost a friend that day, but I also lost a sense of innocence and trust in the world. I couldn't understand then how people who lived so far away could feel enough hatred to destroy families and lives in such a sudden, violent, shocking way. I still don't understand it. I sometimes wish I could go back to that morning when I dropped my now teenage daughter off at preschool and relish the innocence of that moment. It was such a lovely, simple morning until...

I feel simultaneously removed and connected to that day. Removed by time - years have spanned the days and weeks of normalcy returned since then. Removed by distance from the terror - recognizing that fear is only granted by permission. Removed by healing and children and inches indicating their growth and mine since then. And yet connected - connected to my fellow Americans who grieved and mourned and angered with me that day. Connected by loss and fear and wonder at the why. Connected by the waves of minutes and hours and years that slowly carried us each away from that terrible day and then back to it again each year as we remember.

The silent flag blows softly in the darkened, threatening sky. The wind blows my memories, twisting them into certain remembrance. The sorrow swirls and sudden tears drop unbidden down my face. I notice them only as they fall and begin to mix and mingle with nature's sudden agreement. The somber heavens finally open as the rain descends, drop by drop, soaking the flag as it circles in the wind.